“My apprentice is dead,” says the mage. He raises his hands to roughly waist height, and you find you are able to sense him weaving his mana into a spell. “Leave this place now, before I am forced to hurt you.”
Yeah, right. You know your former master better than that. Now that he knows you exist, he’ll never let you go. A new magical creature to study and exploit is better than a birthday gift to that man. What stupidity compelled you to tell him who you were! You draw on your own magic and weave an invisible barrier around yourself.
“I’m not dead,” you say. Fuck it. Cat’s out of the bag anyway, may as well get some information. “I was captured by these strange vines. When I woke up, I looked like this, and then I came straight here.”
You take a step towards him and he lifts his hands up menacingly. “I know what you are, dryad. You can’t fool me. I buried my apprentice over a year ago. His bones rest in this very yard.”
Over a year ago? His words rock you and you take a step back. You feel like you’re about to fall over, but it passes. Even if your transformation had taken longer than you thought, you can’t have been gone more than a few days. A week at most. And what could your master have buried? Your bones? But weren’t you changed like Honey and the others?
“Master, it’s really me,” you try again. “I can prove it! You bought me from the village near the mountains. You taught me water magic my first winter and I flooded my bedroom! But a year? I don’t understand. All I remember is you sent me to find mushrooms, and I did find some, but when I went to pick them, I was wrapped in these slimy vines and passed out. Then I woke up and came right here!”
“I know all about the vines,” he says. You can see magically energy flickering between his fingers. “I burnt those filthy things away and took my apprentice’s remains before you could finish your meal.”
He burnt away the vines? Then, maybe? No. Could it be?
“Master. I think, I think when you destroyed the vines, you interrupted my transformation,” you say. It made sense. The dryad trees were able to store and transfer memories, even the spirits of their dryads, so why not yours too? “I think that my soul was moved into this body, and that’s why it took so long for me to come back.”
The mage is silent for a few moments, thinking about what you’ve said. You know the old bastard well enough that it would definitely peak his curiosity. But would it be enough? You send your mind out towards the two fern hounds waiting hidden in the forest. Best to be prepared just in case.
“You’re not my apprentice,” he says. “You’re just a homunculus. A wooden puppet with stolen memories.”
“No,” you gasp. His words cut through to your core and strike at your ever fear. “No, that can’t be true. I’m me!”
The mage’s words repeat over and over in your mind. A homunculus. Stolen memories. No, it can’t be, can it? You’re not just another dryad tree lure, you’re not!
“I know your tricks, dryad,” you hear him say over the pounding of your own blood in your ears. “It was I who burned your kind from the forest. It was I who tracked down and destroyed every last cursed tree and free this world of your darkness.”
What was he saying? It made no sense. The dryads were wiped out hundreds of years ago. “You?” you manage.
“Yes! Me! For five hundred years I’ve lived in this forest, certain I had ripped your roots from earth,” he shouts, shaking his hands at you. His face is twisted in an ugly snarl and you find you are actually afraid of him. “It looks like I missed one of you, but I won’t be making that mistake again.”
You feel the heat a heartbeat before the roaring flames blast against your shield, pushing you backwards. Fire magic! Did he want to burn the entire forest down? You draw on the forest’s magic and strengthen your shield. You start to cast your own spell, but another wave of rolling flames smashes against you, interrupting your counter attack. He has you on the defensive. All around, the grass is blackened and smouldering, burning your feet as you reel. Oily black smoke blocks your vision. You can’t see him to cast your own spells.
It can’t end like this, you think. This man, your former master, is the same man who slew your ancient sisters. The same man that raised you, that taught you to read and write, to cast your first spell. The same man that destroyed an entire intelligent species. It can’t end like this. You won’t let it end like this!
You manage to summon a blast of icy wind. It clears the smoke for a moment, just long enough to see it does little more than make the mages’ coat billow for a moment. He laughs, and it is an arrogant sound filled with contempt. You snarl at it but are forced to your knees when another wave of flames burst against your shield. He won’t let up. He won’t give you a chance to cast your own spells.
Now! Protect your Queen! You will the command into the trees. There is a yelp and a thud, then nothing. You blast the smoke away with more wind. Lying unconscious on the grass, far too close for comfort, is your former master. Next to him, panting at you, is one of the fern hounds you brought with you. The other is leisurely padding up the hill towards you.
Following your mental commands, the fern hounds had come charging from the forest directly behind the mage. Distracted by his desire to destroy you, he’d been caught completely unawares when the lead hound had thrown itself at him. Its hard, wooden body like a club to his head, knocking him out cold.
“Damn, he got way too close,” you say to the hounds. You summon vines up from the soil to restrain the mage and walk over to the panting hound. You sink down to the grass beside it, worn out from your brief battle, and start patting it. “Who’s a good hound? Who’s a good hound?”
The hound lolls its tongue in pleasure and rolls on to its back. You give the hound’s belly a vigorous rub and are rewarded with its thick green rocket sliding from its sheath. Your eyes widen at the size of it.
“Oh, not just a good hound. A good boy,” you say. “And a big boy, at that.”
You continue to rub the hounds’ belly with one hand and wrap the slender fingers of your other around the hound’s thick, green dick and start to pump it. The hound squirms and bucks against your hand, trying to hump it. You feel his dick thickening beneath your fingers with a big fat knot. Oh, I’ve got to have that inside me, you think. You shift forward, planning to get on your hands and knees, and offer your eager pussy to the hound, when, with a whimper, the hound convulses and shoots his warm, green-tinged cum all over your chest and face.
You lick the hounds’ seed from your lips. Minty. Your body begins to tingle as it absorbs the semen through your skin. Your vagina aches with awakened desire, with a need to be filled, but already the hound’s once proud rod has gone limp, drippling on its belly. “Short fuse?” you ask it. The hound looks at you, then starts licking itself clean.
You turn your attention to the second fern hound. “What about you? Want to give your Queen a good doggy dicking?” you ask. The hound looks at you for a moment, then squats and pees on a patch of blackened grass. “Well, that answers that, I guess.”
With a resigned sigh, you climb back to your feet. Time enough later to revisit that. Right now, you should probably work out what you are going to do with your former master. Preferable before he wakes up.